In Good Practice
by ashenfool
Summary: A short laugh sounded behind them. Bill Weasley entered the room, shaking his head as he settled casually into one of the chairs. "Flexible ethics? Is that what you're calling it? The woman is morally bankrupt." An unoriginal premise with an unusual twist
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own my plot and my (thus far) single original character. I am sure that there are other fics with the same character with the same name, but I haven't read them, and I have a different plot, I'm sure.

_Prologue_

"Three Galleons and four Sickles." Her voice was raspy, as if from disuse or years of smoking.

The customer handed over two Galleons, and paid the rest in Sickles. "So I apply it topically once every half hour for six hours—"

"And store it next to a sunny window. It loses its efficaciousness if it isn't kept in sunlight."

"Very well. My thanks to the brewer."

A short nod. "I'll let her know."

She waited until after the bell had chimed, signifying that the customer had left the apothecary/brewery. Grabbing a large box labeled in strange hieroglyphics, she made her way to a small, old door behind the registry.

"Efhach nie zubnust qin." The words were guttural, ominous sounding. The door swung open, and box in hand, the petite girl made her way into the shadowy hall leading up to a dark and ominous looking wooden staircase. The steps creaked as she ascended, not bothering to light her wand.

She winced as her head snapped. Gently setting the box down, she turned to the source of the delay. A small vine had pushed through the old wood of the walls and wrapped around her near waist length black plait. She muttered a curse under her breath as she freed her braid, silently swearing yet again that she _would_ eventually reinforce the walls in her small indoor garden.

She picked the box back up and continued, pushing open the door at the top of the rickety staircase. She entered a dark room, lit only by candles and the glow of fires underneath dozens of cauldrons of different sizes and colors. The firelight cast an eerie glow on her face, throwing the pale of her skin and the darkness of hair into a sharp contrast and glinting off her glasses.

She started to unload the box, pulling out jars and vials of many liquids. Some of them were easily identifiable: human blood, unicorn blood, Opaleye saliva (a highly restricted trade item). Other's were not identifiable at all. She sorted them by the markings etched into the jars, or scribbled across the Spell-o-tape wrapped around the vials. Her movements were brisk and practiced, her countenance undisturbed by the odious and execrable contents of the box.

One group of vials went into a small closet after she renewed the chilling spells on the container. Another went onto a shelf above a low-burning fire. She ambled around the brewery, placing ingredients in their proper spaces. Over a few groups of identical substances, she tilted her head as if considering, before dividing the group into two smaller groups, placing different spells on each group or storing them in different areas of the shop.

When finished, she closed the box, wrote a new marking underneath the already-present symbols, and shrunk the box until it could fit in the palm of her hand. She crossed into an adjoining room and whistled, attaching the box to the claw of the owl that flew in at the sound. The owl gazed at her dolorously, but nipped her finger affectionately before flying off again. She rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck loudly, before walking back into a third room, a room lit by a floating crystal and the glints of light reflect off of the various glass containers that covered the walls. She removed a vial from a wall sconce and, in one swig, downed the glistening violet liquid contained within. She held her breath for a minute before exhaling mightily and walking back out. She threw the vial into a large box, which emitted a loud noise like a thunderclap and a thick cloud of yellow mist. She didn't seem to notice.

She walked over to a pewter cauldron, sniffing the silver liquid shimmering within. Her eyes glazed briefly. She checked her watch, which had no numbers, but rather several incomprehensible pictures and the phases of the moon. Satisfied, she withdrew a long glass rod from her robe and stirred the concoction once clockwise, once counterclockwise. It bubbled and turned a translucent grey.

"You do know that half of these potions are illegal in Scotland?"

She jumped, placing a hand over her chest to slow her heart's quick and thunderous beating. She whirled around angrily. "Had I spilt one drop of that…" she threatened.

He rolled his eyes as he gracefully swept up into a standing position. His black eyes flashed menacingly in the flickering light.

"Unregistered doesn't mean illegal, per se. They just haven't had the chance to _become_ legal. And there's a reason why I do very little of my marketing in the United Kingdom, anyway. The laws here are so..._confining_. Not at all conducive to creative thinking." Her lips curved into a smile.

"Interesting technicality," he said contemptuously. "You truly are your father's daughter." It wasn't a compliment.

"What are you even doing here? The slavedriving powertripper let you off your leash for a day?"

He grinned, teeth flashing in the darkness.

She shuddered. "Don't smile. It makes me wonder who you've killed."

His lip curled over his teeth in a derisive sneer. "Well, this certainly isn't a social call."

"Yes, I gathered as much. I'd ordinarily ask how you snuck past my wards, but I suppose I already know."

"I know your magical signature, and I was well aware of the properties of most of the wards you used. Treachery has left you not, my dear. How was it, exactly, that you were a Hufflepuff?"

She looked at him evenly. "You _know_ why."

All traces of a smile left his face. "Why, yes. I suppose I do."

He sank back onto his seat and watched her work in silence for a while, his critical eye always observing. He made no offer to help, nor did he offer any ideas or suggestions. He simply settled back into the darkness and watched, unobtrusive and unnoticed. Immersed in her potions, the girl seemingly forgot about his presence altogether. She bustled from cauldron to cauldron, adding ingredients, stirring, measuring, and stoppering.

After an hour, she retired to her rooms. Wordlessly, he rose to his feet and followed. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she breathed deeply over a cup of what his practiced eye identified as a young screechsnap offshoot.

"It's time."

She spared him a brief glance in the mirror. "For?"

"For you to come back."

She sighed deeply, rolling her head around on her shoulders. "I have business to finish here. Two weeks, and then however long it takes me to transport my open cauldrons to the Knockturn and Diagon sites."

"Very well. Just remember, you have obligations to fulfill." He silently swept out of her rooms.

She raised her head slowly and looked in the mirror. Hazel eyes with more green than brown in them stared back at her. Her unruly black waves were escaping from the tight braid of early in the morning, surrounding her small, but strong jawed face.. A slow smile crept onto her face.

"Well, England. So returns the long lost Violet Potter." _Ready or not, here I come_.


	2. In Which Very Little is Revealed

I don't own the Harry Potter books.

In Which Very Little is Revealed

Violet surveyed the shop with a critical eye. She had bought the property as a future investment when she graduated from Hogwarts, but had let it sit as an empty storefront for the last six years. Sitting on the border of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, it hadn't been an expensive piece of property—respectable storeowners didn't want to be so close to the disreputable street while the seedier citizens tended to open shop deeper within the protection of the dark alley. As Violet was somewhat between the two, it was a perfect location for her.

"Looks good." She started, whipping out her wand as she turned, and abruptly dropping her wand arm when she realized who her guest was.

"What are you doing here?"

Bill moved from where he had been leaning against the doorframe and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind. "Same thing you are, I'd imagine. I applied for a desk job a few months ago so that I'd be available to help a few mutual friends. And when your letter made its way onto said desk, I figured I'd take a chance and see if you were here. I remember you mentioning this property."

Breaking free of his arms and crossing her arms, Violet turned to face him. She had to crane her head to meet his eyes.

She scrutinized his face, looking for something. "No, that's not the only reason," she murmured.

"Oh? Pray tell, what is?"

Recognition dawned. "Bill Weasley, you rascal, you met a girl, didn't you?" she demanded.

He grinned. "I did. Her name's Fleur, she's French, and you are going to despise her."

Violet flapped a hand dismissively. "I'll manage. And since you're here, you can help me set up. I don't want to risk levitation charms with some of my more valuable potions or ingredients, so this process is taking forever and a day. Not to mention how difficult it is to transport this many magical substances across the Channel."

Bill snorted. "I hear it's easier when they're legal. But Violet Potter, adopted daughter of Sirius Black is quite the expert at evading authority, I hear." Nevertheless, he moved to the boxes and started unloading.

"The vials in that box hang on the door to the back room." He grunted affirmatively.

"So you said you read my letter. And?"

"And I'm certain we will be calling you every so often. The curse breakers can certainly use someone of your ability. I wish you would just come work at the bank again. Merlin knows the place was more interesting with you around."

"Yes, I know exactly how _interesting_ you thought I was. But I studied potioneering for two years for a reason, and I'm not ready to quit just yet. I'm also fairly certain that my unique—shall we say _connections_, are why the DumbleSquad wanted me home to begin with. Even I can't procure some of the more sensitive materials they might require without a legitimate reason for needing them."

Bill chuckled. "I shudder to imagine how broadly you define the word 'legitimate.'" Her corners of her lips curled up in response.

"I'm still right across the street."

He nodded in agreement as he hung the last vial on the door. "Well, sorry I can't be more helpful, but I have a lunch date. You'll be at the meeting tonight?"

"I will," she responded absently, immersed in her unloading.

He walked to the door. "Well, if you need more manual labor, you can hire my brothers. They're bored stiff at headquarters."

She glanced up. "Great. I'll ask them tonight. Later, Bill."

He hesitated before leaving. "Are you nervous?" he asked, dropping his usual levity. He wasn't talking about the meeting, and they both knew it.

She didn't respond in kind. "Really, Bill," she said, standing up and meeting his gaze. "You know better."

He stared at her intently. "Yes," he responded quietly. "I do." He left the shop.

Violet sighed and turned back to the shop, flipping her braid over her shoulder. _And so passes my first reunion_. She blew a stubborn strand of hair off of her face as she inspected the large amount of unloading she had before her. _Merlin, I need a house elf_. With that thought in mind, she swiftly Apparated.

X

Arlene Nott sighed daintily as she inspected her fingernails, which were perfectly manicured as always. Her life had become so perfectly _boring_ since graduation from Hogwarts.

"And I—Arlene, are you listening to me?" a voice angrily demanded.

She glanced up. "Of course, Clarissa."

Arlene missed school. Her life had followed a course deemed acceptable for a daughter of the Travers family—she had married into a good pureblood family at the age of nineteen, and while cared greatly for Thaddeus (if not his boorish brother, Theodore), she was hard pressed to fill the hours of the day, as most respectable pureblood men did not wish for their wives to take jobs. Things were promising to be more interesting with the return of the Dark Lord, she thought as she absently rubbed the mark scorched into her left arm, but until she was called on for anything besides the use of her home, she filled her time with tedious teas with other respectable ladies, such as Clarissa McNair, who—"Oh, you're leaving so soon?" she simpered. "Let me show you to the Apparation Point." Most wealthy families had specific rooms designated for Apparating that were heavily warded so that only the approved could get in or out.

She walked Clarissa to the room and dutifully kissed her cheek. Before she was halfway back down the hall, she heard a second crack of someone Apparating. She turned, assuming that Clarissa had left something, and opened the door.

"Vi?" she gaped, astonished. She gawked for a minute before, in a quite unladylike manner, throwing her arms around the short woman. "Oh, you're back! I'm so excited! I had almost forgotten what you look like."

"Hey, Leenie," Violet responded, staggering under Arlene's weight. "How have you been?"

Arlene sniffed decorously. "You wouldn't have to ask had you written."

"I'm _sorry_," Vi groaned. "And I'm sorry for this too, and I _will_ come by later tomorrow, but I was actually wondering if I could borrow a house-elf."

Arlene stared at her. "Violet Ann Potter, you have not written me in four years, you don't inform me when you are back in England, and when you come to visit me, I find out you are simply _using_ me for my house-elf?" She stared at her for a long moment before relenting. "Fine. Meeker!"

A small house-elf, taller than most, appeared. "Yes, Mistress?" he cowered. "For the next week, you are under the employ of Violet. Obey her as you would myself."

"Thanks, Leenie, you're an absolute brick. I'll be back soon—in the meantime, I'm setting up shop in Diagon Alley. Come visit me. I know you must get bored hanging around this mausoleum by yourself all day."

Arlene neither affirmed nor denied that statement. A well-brought up young lady never admitted to being unhappy in her home or marriage, but she had known Violet for far too long to pass off any lies.

Violet embraced Arlene once more, before walking back into the Apparation room. "Let's go, elf," she ordered.

And with two cracks, they disappeared.

End Chapter


	3. In Which the Order Gains a Member

A/N: Okay, so I know I've been completely MIA in terms of updating Better Left Alone, and I'm so sorry! I'll be back soon on that one with a huge apology and explanation, but this one is going to continue to be just as slow. Things should start picking up next chapter, when Vi meets the Aurors and the Weasleys.

In Which the Order Gains a Member

Two more cracks, and they were back. Vi eyed the ground floor of structure, mentally planning the order the day was to take, with seven hours to organise and arrange what was to be both her livelihood and her home.

"Well, elf, I suppose we'll start with the apartment," she began, walking to the staircase in the back and trotting up two flights of stairs. The elf followed dutifully as she emerged into a spacious, but very dark flat.

Violet lit her wand, throwing the room into sharp relief. Hovering six inches above the floor were all her personal belongings, bookshelves, and furniture from her shop in Belarus. All of it put together did not serve to fill even the one room, as she had moved from much more austere circumstances into this roomy flat. "Well?" she demanded. "Clean and organise. Hop to!" Not waiting for a reply, elves being fairly predictable creatures, she simply Apparated out of the flat and knocked on the door of the cottage that appeared before her.

The door swung open, and a severe looking witch reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall waved her to a desk on the left wall. Violet obediently went and sat in one of the chairs opposite the witch, whose name card read Constance Hotelier.

"May I help you, Miss…"

"Potter."

Nearly invisible eyebrows rose to her hairline. Violet ignored it. "You should have a file for me. Property 17, I believe."

The woman's curious expression dissipated, replaced with a brisk but professional look as she waved her wand, causing a file to shoot out of the drawer behind her and into her hand. "Let's see, let's see. Violet, is it? I see your property has been empty for nearly six years now, Miss Potter." Her countenance grew stern and any minute trace of affability disappeared.

"Yes, I've been out of the country, but now I'm back and I would like to open my store for business," she assured the woman hastily.

"Very well." Countless numbers of forms flew out of the drawer behind her and stacked themselves neatly on the desk in front of Violet. She felt her spirits sink as the pile in front of her grew and grew. _There goes my day_, she thought wryly.

"Here is what you'll need to start…"

X

Two hours later, Violet signed her name for what felt like the thousandth time. "If you'll excuse me," she said, pushing the form back towards Oteler. "I need to stretch my legs." She didn't wait for the disapproving glare and simply pushed her chair back and left the room. She ambled outside and stood below the sign reading _Diagon Proprietary Offices_. She shoved her hands into her pockets, forehead wrinkling in confusion at the piece of parchment she felt there that certainly had not been there when she dressed herself in the morning.

"What…?" She pulled out the parchment and unfolded it. _The Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place_. She read it a second time before her forehead relaxed. "Oh, Sirius," she chuckled. _If only Bella knew this little bit of information_, unable to suppress a grin at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange's reaction if she knew the use to which her family's home had gone. She set the paper alight and walked back into the office for another long period of reproving looks and forms to complete.

X

Six hours after she left to fetch the elf, she settled back into an armchair in her flat. It was sparsely decorated, and she knew that if she moved to the dining or bed chambers, there would be even less furniture. Still, it was clean now, and it suited her. Her only big indulgence was in her library, where several hundred heavy leather tomes discussing warding, runes, and magical theory rested. Her recipe books belonged spread among the brewery and the small room on the shop floor that she would use for consultations, but she would have the elf move those downstairs later. For now, she dismissed the elf home for the night and set up a miniature cauldron. It would only take half an hour to brew a mild Strengthening Solution, and Merlin knew she needed one before the meeting to follow.

As she brewed, her mind wandered to the last time she was able to make contact with her fugitive adoptive father. She had not seen him since she was of age, and the Ministry decided that she was ineligible for visitation privileges (one of the many things that she held against Ministry of Magic). She briefly considered forgoing her graduate training in Asia to come home when he escaped, but she knew that she would be so closely watched in England that she would be of no help to him. Recognizing it as a futile gesture, she went ahead with the move. Though from his letters, she deducted that he and Harry had apparently become quite close, a fact which caused her a sharp and less than admirable pang of jealousy.

She turned her mind from thoughts of Harry. She wasn't quite ready to think about him. She examined the potion she had created. Ideally, she would let it mature for a few days, but she didn't need it to be overly strong, nor did she need it to last more than a few hours. Dinner, the meeting, and then home to bed was her plan. _Still, can let it mature for a few more minutes…_

Half an hour later, she blew waves of hair that had escaped from her plait out of her face and stood up. _Can't put this off any longer. _ She was excited to see Sirius, but she was also unsure of her reception n the Order. Violet had always dabbled in the less than savory arts, which made her an invaluable asset, if an untrustworthy one. She was sure to arouse an inordinate amount of suspicion in Mad-Eye Moody, at least. Of course, she would have Bill, Sirius, Remus, and probably Charlie Weasley as well that would vouch for her, well, not character, nor honor, but…potency as an ally, perhaps so she wouldn't be persona non grata completely. And of course, Violet had always seamlessly fit in wherever she went, even if she never quite earned a position in anyone's inner circle. She was too unpredictable. Everyone's friend, always willing to help a person out, but never quite given anyone's (save Sirius') full trust. She would be the first to admit that she didn't deserve it anyway.

Violet waved her wand, and her hair replaited itself. Pushing away her cowardice, she took a long swig, drinking all of the Solution that she had made, and Apparated away.

X

She landed on a doorstep, clearly within magical protection, as none of the passing Muggles noticed the short woman in strange black robes appear at 12 Grimmauld Place. She could not prevent the thrill of anticipation that ran up her spine. _The Famous Black House_. Hadn't Sirius once told her that his old house had a library? She could only imagine what sort of things she could learn in a library once owned by _the_ Cygnus Black. She took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

She heard a familiar voice violently swearing within, as a plump redheaded woman pulled the door open. Anticipation raced through her belly, muted by the stoicism falsely felt because of the potion she had taken.

"_Really_, Sirius, is that language necessary? The children are just in the next room—oh, hello, Violet, dear, please come in." Her voice could barely be heard over the wailing of Walburga Black.

"BLOOD TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS, IN MY ANCESTRAL HOME," Walburga lamented. "WEREWOLVES AND TRAITORS!"

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley." Violet nodded respectfully and walked toward the portrait, where Sirius was trying without success to shut the curtains.

"Walburga." She said curtly.

The portrait quieted and Walburga looked down at Violet. "And who is this?" she sneered. "Another Mudblood, defiling the purity of my husband's ancestral home, no doubt."

"Oh, not at all," Vi answered cheerfully. "I'm a Potter. I'm also well acquainted with your niece, Bellatrix."

"Oh!" Walburga stared at Violet, as if trying to ascertain her lineage. Sirius took advantage of her distraction and quickly shut the curtains.

Violet's heart skipped a beat as he turned to gaze at her for a long moment. She hadn't been this close to her godfather since shortly after she had taken her NEWTs. She had grown considerably (if not vertically) since she was sixteen.

He smiled, instantly calming her quivering nerves. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my peripatetic progeny."

Her teeth flashed in acknowledgment of the veiled dig, knowing there was no malice in it.

The two continued to stand a meter apart, looking at each other. Violet was shocked at his appearance. The last time she had seen him, he had been in Azkaban for over a decade. Now, his cheeks were no longer sunken, his hair was clean, and—well, his skin was still sallow, but considering he wasn't allowed inside, his complexion was pretty good.

"You look good," she told him noncommittedly.

He rolled his eyes. Ignoring the pretence of small talk, he grabbed Violet's hand and yanked her to him in a fierce hug.

She melted against him. "I missed you," she said, voice muffled in his robes.

"I missed you too, squirt."

After several minutes of rocking back and forth, during which both of their eyes were suspiciously wet, he released her, and she turned and embraced Remus, who had been hanging back in the doorway quietly, so as not to interrupt the sundered family's reunion.

"Hello, Violet. It's good to see you again."

"You, too, Remus." She embraced him in a hug that, if not as long, was equally tight. "Wow!" she exclaimed brightly. "I can't believe it's been so long! Seven years, is that right?"

"Give or take," Sirius agreed. He slung an arm around her shoulders. "Come, let's catch up."

X

"Wow, Molly is a fabulous cook," Vi said, washing down the last of her dinner with pumpkin juice. She, Sirius and Remus had retired to the library to have privacy as they ate and reacquainted themselves with each other. Had she been with any others, it would have been much harder to resist the temptation to raid the room of half of its contents. She cleared her throat and finished updating them on the last few years of her life. "So when I was accepted into Xuébù ev Míhúntāng's program, I was ecstatic. Don't get me wrong, I loved curse-breaking, but," she broke off and smiled impishly at Sirius, "I prefer to be self-employed. Right before I was due to leave was when you broke out, cheers, by the way, don't believe I ever properly congratulated you—" "Not at all," Sirius grinned—"and I thought about staying so that you might have somewhere to go, but then realised that I would be on high alert and that I would be the first person they expected you to turn to, so I left. So for two years, excepting a six month sojourn in America—Remus, you would love it there, the culture is so different—I studied potions under Míhúntāng, who is a _genius_, had two paper's published, and an editing credit for _Asiatic Anti-Venoms_."

Remus chuckled. "Who would have ever thought a child who was to all intents and purposes raised by the Marauders would turn out to be such a potions enthusiast?"

Vi responded lightly, "Well, we all know how talented my mother was. And it's not like the Marauders were complete imbeciles. Animagus magic may be affiliated with transfiguration, but two thirds of the work is in potioneering. Though I'm sure the only reason they were successful was because you were completely uninvolved in that part of the process, Remus." He shrugged, having long since made peace with his lack of potion sense.

"So anyway, I sat my Mastery of Potions examination, passed (with flying colors, if I may say), and opened up a shop in a small wizarding community in Belarus, where I lived until I was summoned back to participate in this Order nonsense."

Sirius snorted. "You could not be any more different from your brother." She responded with a slight frown before continuing as if she hadn't heard: "anyway, now I'm back, and I'm finally going to do something with that property on Diagon. I had no idea what's involved in opening a store. The paperwork alone…"

"Bring it here," Remus suggested. "As the two members least fit to be out in public, we can help you with that." Sirius frowned, no doubt thinking that paperwork was a poor substitute for the real work that he desired in vain to be doing. Vi doubted that were she anyone other than herself or Harry, Sirius would have emphatically refused.

"You said you had a shop in Belarus, though," Sirius commented.

"Er…" Violet suddenly looked sheepish, as if caught in recalcitrant behavior. The two men glanced at each other with similar tolerant looks, although Sirius' was expectedly amused, as opposed to Remus' expression, which was more exasperated. The last few years had not changed her, apparently.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Out with it, Potter. It's not like either one of us can judge your wayward behavior."

"True," she said, grinning madly. "My shop in Belarus was really just an office affixed to a brewery. All the potions were commissioned, and generally for really exorbitant prices as the legality of them was generally questionable. Belarus has a very weak magical government as well as Muggle government, and no one really cared what I did there. Unfortunately, the same does not hold true for opening a store in the largest shopping district in Britain. I can't break the rules here like I did there. I have to appear to be above the wand and unfortunately seem beyond reproach, especially considering my unsavory acquaintances." She indicated the two men, saluting them both sharply with her fork.

Remus looked at Sirius. "Very well trained, Padfoot. Notice that she uses the words "appear" and "seem" with absolutely no indication of any desire to actually _be_ above the wand and beyond reproach."

She waved a spoon carelessly. "Good behavior is for the uncreative and close-minded. Plus, this entire Order business isn't exactly above the wand either, now is it?"

"A child after our own hearts to be sure," Sirius agreed earnestly, not bothering to restrain a laugh or even pretend to disapprove.

Remus glanced at the clock on the wall. "We should go downstairs to the meeting."

Vi and Sirius nodded in assent. "Carry on, then," Sirius said, waving out the door. The three traipsed out.

X

Vi followed Sirius and Remus, curiously observing the details of the house that she had neglected in her excitement. It was a testament to her personality that she showed no disgust at, only mild interest in, the heads of house-elves past hung on the wall. They heard voices coming from the kitchen below them.

"Mercy, we simply must do something about the stench in here. Sirius may be used to it, living here and all, but it smells quite wretched."

"I know," another voice chimed in. Violet recognized it as Molly Weasley's. "I've made a fair bit of progress, sadly enough, but you would think that Sirius would care a little more about the state of this place, what with Violet arriving today and all."

"Violet's a Master of Potions, and quite used to foul odors, as well as adjusted to less than pristine living conditions. She does, after all, spend a fair amount of her time harvesting bicorn spleens and dissecting crocodile hearts," Vi said breezily as she entered the kitchen. "Although tomorrow I do intend on doing something about the lack of light. Sirius, dear, these serpent shaped candle holders are hilariously appropriate."

He smiled tightly. "Don't I know it. Violet, love, might I introduce you to your new colleagues?" He named then from left to right as they were situated throughout the room. "Molly, whom you know, Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones—"I know Hestia, she was Head Girl when I was a first year"—"Yes, quite, and doubtless you know Bill—" Bill winked at her as Sirius named him, followed by the Weasley patriarch—"as well as Professor McGongall, and here is Sturgis Podmore, who was a few years behind Remus and myself at Hogwarts, Mundun—" "Dung!" Violet exclaimed, recognizing the disreputable wizard.

Molly looked between the two with a disapproving frown. "Violet, dear, you know Mundungus?" she asked, her nose slightly wrinkled.

"Not very well," Violet assured her with a disarming smile. "We have a few mutual friends." Remus snorted, knowing full well what that translated to in Violet-speak, though Molly seemed to be satisfied by that explanation, though she was no doubt wondering what friends they could possibly have in common. Sirius finished the introductions all of a split-second before Dumbledore appeared with Severus Snape in a burst of light.

"Ah, excellent," he said, surveying the gathered witches and wizards. "Violet, I'm so glad to see you back in the country. I trust your travel was without troubles?"

"Yes, quite, thank you Professor," she answered stiffly.

"My dear, please, you are no longer a student. We are all equals here—" Several of the Order rolled their eyes at the idea of being equal to Albus Dumbledore—"Please address me by my first name."

"Right," Vi said, unable to imagine calling Dumbledore by his primary name. "Severus," she greeted, acknowledging his presence with a curt nod.

"Shall we?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing toward the table. The Order moved as one body and settled around it. "Now, the first order of business is to welcome Violet back to England, where she left a quite lucrative business in Belarus to come and aid us in our struggles." She received several smiles and nods, to which she responded with a nod of her own. She hadn't missed the disapproving edge in Dumbledore's voice when he referenced her business.

"Now, you will notice that none of our resident Aurors are present tonight, but that is not a cause for worry. Kingsley is on duty with the Ministry and Nymphadora is in Little Whinging. Alastor, I believe, is attempting to locate a few members from the last Order." Violet sat straighter as she felt a weight lift off her. "I will fill in all of the missing members myself later, as I am afraid that tonight we will discuss something of great importance to Voldemort, and therefore to us by necessity." He cast his gaze around the table, where every person watched him intently. "But before we begin, Molly, I believe you said something about a commitment tomorrow night precluding you from your guard? May I address that concern before you leave tonight to feed your children?"

"Yes, I'm sorry Professor, but if I'm going to be moving my family into Grimmauld tomorrow, I'm afraid I won't be able to watch Harry. Bill and Arthur have work and with Fred and George my only children of age…Can someone else possibly take my shift?"

"Certainly, Molly." Dumbledore cast his gaze around the table before landing on Violet. "Violet, would you care to take tomorrow's shift in Little Whinging?"

Violet stiffened imperceptibly, meeting Dumbledore's gaze in a wide-eyed stare of her own as she carefully hid her thoughts from public perception. "I'm sorry Professor, but I'm unavailable during the next two days. I have meetings at the Ministry tomorrow and I'm warding my store on Thursday."

"All day?" Snape asked skeptically.

Violet frowned. "Yes. The potions will be finished by Thursday morning, but the wards will take a good six hours to set up and another four to finish activating. They will also prevent me from using most magic for the rest of the week."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Those must be some particularly powerful wards."

Violet shrugged nonchalantly, but her eyes danced. "There was a slight…situation in Belarius that alerted to me how woefully deficient the wards that I previously considered adequate were. I'm taking pains to alter that situation. I won't be surprised again."

"Oh, really?" Snape inquired silkily. Anyone that had not spent as much time in his presence as Violet would never have heard the smug, challenging undertones in his voice. "How so?"

She turned and looked at him with an odd gleam in her eyes, saying nothing. "Hmm," Snape murmured in response, sitting back into his chair, taking her expression to mean that she was not refusing to answer altogether, but only in present company. She turned back toward the professor, saying "I'll be using a combination of runic as well as herbal wards, but I won't be able to assemble them until I've finished transporting my materials. And of course I won't neglect to erect a basic line of discernment."

Bill grinned. "Don't you need a permit for herbal words, Vi? Pretty sure those are illegal."

Violet raised a lazy eyebrow. "Isn't this organization illegal?" That was greeted by chuckles throughout the room.

"Are all those wards truly necessary?" a small wizard whose name Violet did not remember asked.

Vi made no reply, fixing her eyes to a small knot in the wood on the table. She would speak no more tonight. Dumbledore cleared his throat and broke the silence. "Undoubtedly Miss Potter has her reasons, as well as several valuable ingredients and potions that we would not want in the wrong hands. Elphias, will you take that shift? Yes? Very well, then, Severus, would you care to make your report?"

Severus broke his gaze away from Violet, sneering at the glare Sirius directed at him. "Very well, Professor. At the last meeting…"

X

Vi slipped out of the kitchen unnoticed in the racket of twenty chairs sliding across the floors and made for the door. She had her hand on the knob when she felt his presence behind her.

She turned. "Evening, Severus. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"So," he began, ignoring her, "tomorrow night you'll meet the loyal sidekick of your younger and less intelligent brother. I'm rather sorry for you. You've managed to avoid meeting him through the enviable method of not acknowledging your brother's existence. I confess…I am envious."

She looked at him poisonously. "You wanted something, Snape?"

"Warding is powerful magic, but herbals and runics wouldn't drain you to the point of nonperformance since you base them on physical and external substances. Tell me, are you avoiding your brother to the point of refusing to look upon your face, which would be most understandable, or did you possibly neglect to mention a few?"

Her face tightened briefly and then smoothed out. "I may have done," she answered smoothly, ignoring the first part of his question altogether. "I've been reading this fascinating book by a man called Gregori Yefimovich..." She let him fill in the blanks.

"Blood wards," he stated, looking intrigued despite himself. "Yes, that would do it." He wiped the expression of interest off his face before drawing himself up and sneering down at her. "While I acknowledge that you have nowhere near the practice or experience in potions that I have, might I ask why is it that _I_ am the one creating Wolfsbane for the werewolf, while _you_ are the one who might care how—" he said the next word as if it emitted a foul odor "—_comfortable_ he is during his transformations? I do have better things to do with my time than accommodate the wants of a half-breed." Vi refused to rise to the bait, and gazed up at him, saying,

"I'll be happy to take that particular burden off your shoulders, Severus, and I'm sure Remus would be thrilled to let me as well. So if you don't mind finishing this month's supply, I'll take over shortly." He nodded shortly. "Now, if you don't mind..."

She turned and left, the only thing betraying her ire being the violence with which she grabbed her discarded cloak.

End.


	4. Evasion, Prevarication, and Manipulation

Disclaimer: I own Violet, her background, and any changes to the plot made because of her actions. Sadly, I don't own anyone else, much as I would like to.

Expect the next chapter of BLA tomorrow!!!

Evasion, Prevarication, and Manipulation: The Violet Way of Life

"Please state your name and business at the Ministry," a female voice told her as she relaxed against the wall of the phone booth.

"Violet Potter-Black, I have an appointment to verbally abuse a few idiotic Ministry bureaucrats."

"Thank you," said the voice. "Please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

Violet grabbed the badge out of the chute and pinned it to her robe before exiting the booth and presenting her wand. A few short minutes later, she was stepping onto the lift, tapping her foot impatiently as it started to descend. _I cannot _believe _I am wasting my time here_, she thought angrily to herself. She stilled her foot and took a deep breath, knowing there was no hope for it. She glanced down at her chest where the silver badge was fixed upon her robes: _Violet Potter-Black, Axe-Grinding and Bone-Picking_. She snorted.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office," a female voice sounded. _Ludicrous Patents_, Violet mouthed silently to herself. _Glad to see my tax Galleons put to such a noble cause._

The doors opened and several memos exited as well as a tall, impossibly thin man walking with an average sized witch. "Did you see her badge?" the woman was whispering excitedly, "That was Harry Potter's sister."

Violet rolled her eyes and tore off the badge, sticking it in her pocket. _Amateurs_. The lift stopped again at six, where another woman exited and four memos flew on.

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats." Violet darted off, skirting around two men that were (quite rudely, she thought) stepping onto the lift with no notice of the exiting crowd. Vi walked briskly through the hallway, looking for the correct sign. A man with a tawny mane and moustache looked up from where he was immersed in conversation with a horridly pockmarked wizard, for whom Vi itched to offer a Skin-Smoothing Salve, and made his excuses quickly, his eyes narrowed. She ignored this exchange and continued on, knocking on the door labelled _International Magical Trading Standards Body_. The door swung open, and she entered, preparing herself for a long and boring, yet unfortunately necessary exchange.

"Violet Potter, here to apply for a licence to sell patented potions?"

"Yes, I have a list of the potions in question here…"

X

An hour and a half later, she emerged from the room, weary from the meeting. _This is why I prefer places with no effective government_, she mused. Not that, in current climate, the Ministry of Magic was being particularly effective, but still. She walked onto the oddly empty lift, but instead of travelling up to the top level where she could Apparate out, it travelled down. She frowned and pushed the button for the top floor again. The lift continued to move down. She punched the button several more times with increasing force to no avail.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."

"What in the world?" she murmured, hitting the button again. The doors did not close.

"Excuse me, Miss Potter-Black?" a man with a ponytail down to the middle of his scarlet-covered back asked, stepping in front of the lift entrance. "I am Auror Williamson. Will you please come with me?"

Vi considered him for a long moment, thinking that the polite thing to do would be to follow the Auror calmly and cooperatively. Yes, that's definitely what she should do. No good making enemies this early on in her stay in London.

She leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. "And why, exactly, should I do any such thing?" she inquired. "I was unaware of any wrongdoing on my part necessitating the attention of Magical Law Enforcement." Oh, well. No one ever accused Violet of being polite. Or honest.

The man grimaced. "Look, you seem harmless enough to me—" Violet coughed, masking a laugh "—but I've been instructed to escort you to Senior Auror Shacklebolt's cubicle for questioning. You can come with me, or I can make you come with me, but you'll be getting there whichever way you choose."

Violet lifted an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that the Aurors were in the habit of hauling in people with no cause or evidence of wrongdoing." He reddened, but remained resolute. She debated pushing the issue further to see exactly how Williamson would 'make' her comply, but decided that would be counter-productive, as the man was clearly following orders. May as well argue with the people in power. Shrugging her shoulders in acquiescence, she decided to follow him off. He seemed relieved not to have to curse the petite witch.

He led her through the maze of cubicles that constructed the Auror Headquarters and into a cubicle that seemed to be at the very end of the hall. She looked around the hall with interest. Another Auror joined her on the walk, and he stepped into the cubicle ahead of her, where she was evidently meant to take a seat in the chair that was crammed in opposite the desk. Once inside, it took her all of half a second to realise why she had been called in, for looking down at her were dozens of pictures of Sirius, many of which she had in her own personal collections. Ignoring both the chair and the Auror gesturing for her to sit, she walked along the walls of the cubicle, examining the pictures and newspaper cuttings.

She had just gotten to a picture Sirius holding her on his shoulders when she was two years old when a distinct "Ahem!" sounded behind her. She turned and swept over to the chair, settling gracefully down and looking expectantly at the tall black man who had seated himself at the desk. "Well, I've been in the country two days now. What took so long?"

The Auror frowned. "Miss Potter-Black, this process may be less painful if you would cooperate and cease this flippant attitude." Violet grinned.

"Painful, sir?" she asked innocently. The frown deepened.

"Miss Potter-Black—"

"It's just Potter," she interrupted. "Sirius did formally adopt me, and I do use his name on official documents, but informally I keep the name Potter."

He sighed in frustration. "Very well, Miss_ Potter_. These are the Aurors Williamson and Janssen, I am Auror Shacklebolt, and as I'm sure you have guessed, I am the Auror in charge of the hunt for your godfather. You are aware, of course, that by withholding any information you may possess about his whereabouts, you are liable to be arrested for aiding a fugitive and obstructing and misleading the protectors of the law?"

"Mr. Shacklebolt," Violet responded lightly, "are you aware that, thanks to the Ministry of Magic, I have not been permitted to see my godfather since Easter vacation of my sixth year of Hogwarts? As he did not escape until over five years after that week, by which time I had not set foot in Britain for three years, I fail to see how exactly I could have had anything to do his escape or his continual evasion of Magical Law Enforcement. Which," she added poisonously, "doesn't exactly reflect well on your capabilities, now does it, Mr. Shacklebolt?"

A slight tightening of the eyes was the only response. "Miss Potter," he continued determinedly, "The Auror Office has a few questions we would like to ask you, as the person who arguably knows Black the best."

"Arguably." She smirked and leaned back into her chair, waving an unconcerned hand. "Fire away."

"Miss Potter, did you in any way abet Mr. Black in his escape from Azkaban, do you have any knowledge of how he managed to do so, and did you have any knowledge of his intentions to do so?"

"Don't see how I could have, being in Asia at the time as I was. He's a smart man, seemed to manage just fine without me. He hasn't exactly been able to explain _how_ he managed to escape, being on the run and all, and no, he hardly sent me a letter detailing the fact that he was going to break out of Azkaban." She smiled wryly. "They read all his mail, you see."

"So Mr. Black did not find you after his escape?"

"I think you'd know if he had—or did you think that I hadn't noticed the fact that you had an Auror tailing me for a full year?" Shacklebolt's eyebrows lifted in surprise as he jotted a note down.

"Have you been in any contact with Black since?"

This questioning continued for over an hour. Violet was dimly aware that one of the Aurors was taking notes behind her while the other was watching to door to the cubical and warning away anyone that was calling on Shacklebolt. She grew increasingly amused, as she continued to dance around answers ("Why are you asking me if I love Black? Do you not have my letters to him on file?") and Shacklebolt grew more and more frustrated with her. She smirked when after one particularly snarky answer he slammed his fist into his desk ("Now Mr. Shacklebolt, I would watch your temper. If you are ever_ falsely accused_ of a crime, you want people able to testify for your good nature"). Finally, growing bored with the proceedings, she leaned forward. "Mr. Shacklebolt, I think it would save us both time and energy if you were to call in a Ministry-certified and employed Legilimens, to whom I could swear that I have had no contact with Black that the Ministry has not been fully aware of since his imprisonment, and none at all since his escape in the summer of 1993. And if that does not convince you, I am happy to do the same after drinking Veritaserum."

Shacklebolt stood. "Well, Miss Potter, that will certainly suffice for now. I will be watching you rather closely, and if I have any reason to suspect you, that is exactly what I will do. If I have any further questions—"

"I'm sure you'll be able to track me down," Violet interrupted, standing as well.

"If Black makes any communication with you, and you fail to inform me, you will be liable to immediate incarceration in Azkaban."

Violet's eyes gleamed. "You know," she said airily, "I rather think I could handle it." She walked around Shacklebolt's desk and plucked a picture of herself playing a handclap game with Sirius off the wall. "I'd like a copy of this, if you don't mind," laying it across his desk, ignoring his glare of indignation. She turned and started to walk away, but was stopped by a large hand on her shoulder. She turned crossly, looking up at the Auror.

"Miss Potter," his voice boomed down to where her head reached only the middle of his ribcage, "If the only contribution I ever make to the magical society is to recapture Sirius Black, that is just fine with me. So if I have to have a team of twelve Aurors tail you to ensure it gets done, that's exactly what I'll do, and then it'll be dementor's kiss for your precious godfather, and I'll be proud to witness it. So the next time you are in this office, a little less cheek would be in your best interests because I will arrest you as an accessory in the amount of time it takes you to withdraw your wand. Is that understood?" His voice reverberated throughout the cubicle. Several heads poked over the top to see what exactly was happening. Violet looked up at him, meeting his eyes squarely, nodded mutely, and strode away, seething.

Hours later, when she went to Grimmauld Place for supper, her anger had slowly dissolved into nerves. Sirius was the one issue about which she had always made her feelings quite clear, but she was no longer young enough that the Ministry would not view her as a threat. As she contemplated the likelihood that her return would increase the chances of Sirius' capture, she entered the kitchen only to be greeted by a chilling sight: the huge wizard that had not six hours earlier sworn to destroy her godfather was standing over him, holding his wand in one hand and Sirius' shoulder in the other.

X

"Met your girl today, Sirius," Kingsley said, throwing his cloak over a chair in the kitchen. "Quite the little spitfire, isn't she?"

Sirius chuckled. "When it suits her. Where did you meet her?"

"At the Ministry, actually. I don't know what she was doing there, but Scrimgeour sent a memo down to my office saying that Sirius Black's goddaughter was in the country and at the Ministry, so I had her brought in for questioning."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "I'm sure she _loved_ that."

Kingsley grimaced. "She—" His voice cut off when a loud THUD was heard from upstairs.

"Sorry, that'll be the Weasley twins. They're moving in today."

"Oh, right. Anyway, we talked for ten minutes, and I didn't even realize it at the time, but she didn't say a single thing the entire time. Did she go to school to learn the art of evasion?" He retrieved his wand from his cloak pocket, grabbing onto Sirius' shoulder for balance as Kreacher emerged from under the table. They ignored his muttering.

"No, but the chit's always been good at getting her own way." Sirius smiled fondly. "Speaking of…" The crack of an Apparation sounded from the foyer.

"Merlin and Morgana! You would not _believe_ all the mindless bureaucrats I have had to deal with for this stupid store! I swear, between this license and that registration and—NO!!" Violet reached the kitchen and immediately recognized the tall Auror standing over her godfather holding a wand. A second later, Sirius had been flung to one wall with a shimmery sort of shield over him, Kingsley's wand was in her hand, and he was pinned to the wall by a semi-circle of fire that reached his shoulders. Fury emanated from every pore as she advanced on him with narrowed eyes.

"How. The hell. Did you. Find. This. Place" She spat, punctuating her words by poking him sharply in the chest with her wand through a hole in the fire. Sparks flew from the end of her wand and singed his shirt.

"Violet, no! _Expelliarmus_!" Violet's wand flew out of her hand; with an unearthly shriek she leapt forward at Kingsley, only to be stopped by strong arms from behind. She struggled madly, trying to free herself, the portrait's shrieking adding to the pandemonium "HOW DARE YOU INFEST MY HOME! BLOOD TRAITORS LIVING IN MY BEDROOMS, SUPPING IN MY KITCHEN—." She kicked and thrashed, finally forcing her way free only to hear a muttered "_Incarcerous"_ and then she was tied, writhing on the floor, Walburga was still screaming "FILTH! FILTH AND BLOOD TRAITORS!" joined by the loud THUD of the kitchen table falling over and fire was licking merrily higher at Kingsley's face and someone was shouting as if through a tunnel, "Violet! Violet, calm down!" and Sirius was struggling to get through the barrier even as Violet sputtered and swore at Shacklebolt who seemed to be chuckling calmly and then,

"ENOUGH!" thundered Moody from the kitchen door. Even Walburga lapsed into silence. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?" Violet slumped down with a whimper.

Moody stomped forward into the kitchen. With a wave of his wand, the fire engulfing Kingsley had disappeared. He left Violet struggling on the floor as he attempted, in vain, to dismantle Sirius' shield. Violet muttered something from where she was panting on the floor.

"What was that?" Moody barked.

"The shield only dismantles with a gift of blood from the one it protects," Violet said in a louder voice. "Until the protected chooses to release it, it will protect him from spells and physical attack alike. But seeing as the man aching to suck out Sirius' soul is in the room, I'm hoping he'll do the smart thing and leave it up."

"Well, I appreciate the thought if not the deed, Vi," Sirius said as he pricked his finger and smeared it on the shield. It disappeared with a quiet _pop_. "If we release you, do you promise not to attack Kingsley?"

Violet's eyes rolled upward. Sirius shrugged. "Good enough." He nodded at Moody, who vanished her bindings. She ignored Kingsley's outstretched hand and rose to her feet.

"Miss Potter, I apologize for misleading you at the Ministry earlier," Kingsley said in the same deep, calm voice that had so irritated her earlier, "But I would have appeared derelict in my duties if I had not brought you in after the head of my department told me about your presence in the Ministry. And in my unique position, it is especially important to keep up appearances." He didn't look the least perturbed about having just been assaulted and nearly lit on fire.

"Oh! Not at all," Violet said amiably. "Sorry about that little scene—" Sirius snorted and she heard a guffaw from the freckly-armed redhead that had physically restrained her earlier—"but of course I wasn't going to let you take Sirius in." The two shook hands as if nothing had happened while their observers watched bemused. "I must say, that was quite the convincing performance. Especially that bit at the end."

He let out a great booming laugh. "And you as well, Miss Potter—"

"Miss _Potter_?" someone asked in a muffled whisper.

"—you as well."

Violet turned to face the myriad redheads that had entered the room during the skirmish. "Hallo, Weasleys! Well," she said, turning to Mrs. Weasley, "I'm assuming they're Weasleys based on the red hair." Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"These are my sons, Fred and George, the twins, and this is Ron, and this is my daughter, Ginny," she said, indicating each in turn.

Violet nodded at each of them in turn. "Lovely to meet you, I'm sure. I'm Violet, as I'm sure you've guessed. I usually make better first impressions."

Sirius chortled. "Of course you do." She responded with an impish grin.

"If we're done with the pleasantries," Moody said, sounding quite vexed, "I believe we have an appointment, Shacklebolt?" Kingsley nodded amicably and followed him up the stairs.

"Now, where is my wand?" Violet asked, looking around the kitchen.

"This?" Ron said, handing over the stick in his hands.

"Yes! Thank you!" she said.

Ron shook his head. "Blimey, that's not a wand, that's a small broomstick."

Violet rolled her eyes even as the twins nodded fervently. The long wand (sixteen and a half inches) _was_ a little longer than average, and she was a little shorter than average, clocking in at five feet even, so she was aware she looked a little comical, like a child holding her mother's wand.

"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, shaking off a frazzled expression. "I'll just be checking the oven now and if all of this brouhaha hasn't disrupted the food—" she shot Violet and Kingsley a poisonous glare while they exchanged amused looks –"then we can eat dinner."

Violet looked at Sirius. "You fix the table, I'll get the dishes?" He nodded and returned the table to its original position while dishes came whizzing out of their cabinets. Violet took comfort in this small measure of teamwork, the closest that she and Sirius had ever come to being a normal family.

"So why don't we use that shield instead of _Protego_ when we battle?" Ginny piped up. "If it's so much more powerful?"

Violet didn't turn away from where she was entertaining herself with setting the cutlery to duelling. "Because it can be as much of a cage as it is a shield. No spells or physical objects can go in, but they can't go out either. A person could sit there and watch a battle progress, but that's about it. And if their side loses, he'll just be hanging out with the enemy until they get bored and go home, or he releases the shield."

"Or dies of hunger," Bill added from the doorway. He wrapped his arms around Ginny's shoulders, hugging her from behind.

"How'd you know that one, Bill?" one of the twins asked. "It's not one we've learned yet at Hogwarts."

"You won't," Violet said, as she turned and greeted Bill with a kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Weasley froze from where she was setting the food out and eyed Violet speculatively. "Bill and I learned it in our training year at Gringotts." The group settled around the table.

"Yes, believe it or not, your education doesn't end after graduation," Bill added.

"I thought you were in potions, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Bill never said that he worked with you."

"He hasn't. We trained together for a year, but he was assigned to the Egypt branch and I stayed in England until I decided that curse breaking is really more of a hobby." Violet took a bite of her food and munched thoughtfully before turning to the twins. "And what about you two? Seventh year, right?" They nodded. "Have you figured out what you want to do after graduation?" They exchanged glances and turned to answer before catching their mother's mutinous expression and lapsing into silence.

Bill cleared his throat. "Fred and George want to open a joke shop, but Mum doesn't approve. She's hoping they'll get Ministry jobs."

Violet's eyes took on a devious glint, recognizable to few. She looked at Mrs. Weasley. "What if the Ministry doesn't change? Surely you don't want them working there in the present climate?" Sirius took a hasty gulp of his drink to hide a smile.

She frowned. "Pardon me?"

"Well," Violet explained, "who do you think is controlling _the Prophet_, which I am to believe you are refusing to read?" She looked at Mrs. Weasley for confirmation before continuing. "Right now, the Ministry is taking this anti-Dumbledore, intentionally blind stance. Your husband only has job security as long as no one finds out what he really believes or that he is in sympathy with Dumbledore and my brother at which point he'll be fired. Is that the kind of atmosphere you want your sons working in? Unstable and mired with hypocrisy?" The twins' faces split into identical grins.

"Yes, Mum," Fred asked angelically, "Is that the kind of life you want for your dear boys?"

George chimed in, "Forced to hide our true beliefs and live in constant fear of persecution…"

"Unable to remain true to ourselves!"

"No job stability!"

"Hypocrisy!"

"_Dress codes_!" George added with a dramatic shudder. Ron sniggered.

Mrs. Weasley's frown deepened. The rest of the table muffled their laughs. "I don't think that you've really thought the joke shop through. There's more to it than your silly little inventions. Even if you were able to acquire the money to buy premises and start up materials—"

The twins exchanged meaningful glances.

"Then you still have to worry about the legal aspects of store-owning, employing help, and to top it all off, it's a very risky business. Plus, you have no idea the kind of work it takes, opening a store."

Fred and George rolled their eyes in exasperation. Violet, however, was looking at Mrs. Weasley thoughtfully. Sirius shook his head. "And here she goes," he muttered under his breath. Bill put his fork down and leaned back in his chair in order to better focus on what would surely be very deft manoeuvring on Vi's part.

"You're right," she agreed. "If anyone knows that, I know that."

"You see, boys?" Mrs. Weasley said triumphantly.

"Dammit, I thought she was on our side," Fred muttered to George.

"But I also understand that hearing what a bad idea it is from their mother isn't going to convince them to let go of their dream, either. They're young enough that a Knut of experience is worth a Galleon of advice. Why don't you give them to me for the summer?"

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Fred and George looked at Violet in horror.

"I'm opening a store right now, which is a painstaking process. I've done it before, so I know the ropes, but there is more work than I can do on my own if I want to open in two weeks. Let me hire Fred and George for the summer. They can earn some money, I'll get the help I need, and they'll be able to get firsthand experience in what it takes."

Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows knitted together. "What about after you open? What will they do then?"

Violet laughed. "The work will hardly stop after the store opens. I will need people running the store while I have consultations. I can have them handling customers, working on their customer service, placing orders with suppliers, taking orders from commissioners, cleaning, advertising…there's never a break. Trust me, if anything will convince them that opening a store is a bad idea, it's witnessing the process of _opening a store._" She rose from the table and dropped her dishes off in the sink before fetching her bag from the foyer. She opened her bag and several wall sconces zoomed out and fixed themselves to various points on the kitchen walls. Walking around, she placed a tall glass vial filled with a clear liquid in each sconce. Sirius walked over to one of the sconces and examined the vial.

"Vi? What's all this?"

"Here." She tossed him a roll of cloth, which he unravelled to reveal what appeared to be scaled sticks. "Put one in each vial and light the end." Sirius obeyed, and as soon as the flame travelled down the stick and hit the liquid, the room exploded in light. Swearing and rubbing his eyes, he jumped away from the wall. As the clear potion submerged the flame, the light diminished until it glowed as brightly as a new lamp.

"Oh, right, sorry," Violet said. "They get really bright when first added," she explained belatedly to the Weasleys, most of whom were still rubbing their eyes. "Anyway, this should solve your lighting problem for a few weeks. Sirius, I have to go." She kissed him on the cheek before turning to Molly. "Mrs. Weasley, I assure you, no danger will come to your sons in my shop. I'm not connected to the Floo network, but tomorrow morning you should be able to Apparate in with no problem, and I'll make sure that the wards I set allow them in. Thanks for allowing this. Nice to meet you, Weasleys." She Disapparated before Molly could utter the rejection half-formed on her tongue.

Sirius leaned forward and sniffed the vial. "Hmm. Citrus-y." He turned back to the table. "Sorry about Vi, Molly. Teaching her respect for her elders was a little difficult in Azkaban, where I had no elders worth respecting to use as examples. I was hardly going to ask her to address Rabastan Lestrange as 'sir'."

"Understandable," Molly said, still looking vaguely perplexed at the way she had just been masterfully handled. She shook her head. "Well, I guess you're going to her shop tomorrow, boys."

"Mum!" Fred exclaimed, outraged.

"Now, Fred, really, don't complain. You want to open a store; you should see what goes into it. Maybe this will finally knock some sense into you. Although at least Violet sells _respectable_ goods in her store." Sirius turned back to the wall so no one could see his irrepressible grin. "Really, a joke store, what complete and utter nonsense…

X

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, not that you could tell through the grime encrusted windows of 12 Grimmauld Place. "Can't believe we're doing this," Fred muttered to George under his breath so their mother wouldn't hear.

"I know," George responded lowly. ""We have our own store and products to worry about. We should not be stuck minding someone else's. Harry probably doesn't know it's a _good_ thing he doesn't know his sister."

"Now, boys," Mrs. Weasley said anxiously, joining them at the table. "I know you will be excited to be in Diagon Alley, and I realize that you are of age, but _please_ do not go wandering around. Apparate straight into the store, stay with Violet until she dismisses you, and come straight home after."

"Mum, we _are_ of age, you know," George pointed out. She shot him a dirty look.

"Oh, and I suppose that turning seventeen makes you immune to attack, does it? Boys, I'm serious. And don't make trouble for Violet! You're supposed to be helping, not hindering."

"Yes, mum," the twins chorused dutifully. Fred laid a hard kick on Ron's shin as payback for snickering.

The twins stood up grumpily and Apparated to Violet's shop after accepting wrapped sandwiches from their mother. They looked around the store with interest. "It's a bit smaller than what we need," Fred said to George, who had started walking around. The store was fairly large and shaped like a square, being somewhere between Flourish and Blott's and the Apothecary in size. Twenty tall bookshelves lay parallel to the sides of the store. A few shelves on each of them were filled, but they were overwhelmingly empty. Immediately to the left of the entrance there was a long desk, and immediately to the right, against the wall, there was a sign that read "Pay by the beaker." George wandered down one of the long aisles.

"Look, she's got an office set up here, and a staircase over in the other corner. Where do you reckon she is?" George called up to Fred, who was still near the front of the store.

Fred shrugged. "Let's try the staircase." He joined George in the back of the store, looking at interest at the fifty some-odd vials filled with a glistening black substance that were hanging from the door to the office.

"Well, at least now we have an excuse to be in Diagon Alley. We can look for premises during lunch break or something. If she even allows us to eat. We don't have to tell her Mum gave us food."

They climbed up one set of steep, rickety wooden staircases, but the door they reached would not open, even after a quick _Alohamora!_ They kept going and knocked on the next door. "Come in, I'll be a mo!" they heard Violet call. Fred pushed the door in, and they walked into what would presumably be a large parlour, but for the lack of furnishings. The only sign someone lived there was a large couch and a plant. What sounded like a muffled argument could be heard from another room.

"So, I guess she lives here," George said, surveying the room. "Not big on furniture, is she? You know, if she's going to coerce us into working for her, she could at least be ready when we get here."

"Shhh!" Fred ordered, rummaging in his pocket and pulling out an Extendable Ear. He walked to the opposite wall and attached on end of the Ear. George huddled around the other side with him.

"—and you do have to face it sometime or another. You've been avoiding this for years."

"And I don't see why it's any of your concern, Remus" Violet answered sharply. "I'm well able to take care of myself."

"Have you thought about how this might be affecting him?" he demanded. "Vi, it's been years since you've been of age, and you can't claim lack of opportunity!" She sighed and cut him off.

"This conversation is over. If you don't mind going back to the topic at hand," she said pointedly in a tone that brooked no argument. All traces of anger rapidly left her voice. "I don't want you to get your hopes up," she continued, "because there is a very large chance this won't work. I've only just started looking at Belby's notes, and I'll have to do a lot of my own studies. I'll need several samples from you."

"I'm not expecting miracles, Violet," Remus responded, sounding resigned to the fact that Violet would no longer discuss whatever it was they were talking about. "I'm impressed that you thought of this at all. It's a little unprecedented. I'll help anyway you need." George looked at Fred, who shrugged.

"Okay, then. If you don't mind…" George assumed that she made some gesture that they couldn't see. They heard someone take a sharp, pained breath before Violet said "That's should be enough, but if I need more I'll let you know. Though the properties may change as we draw nearer… Thank you." He mouthed "What are they talking about?" to Fred, who shook his head.

"Thank _you_," Remus replied. "You'll keep me updated?"

"Of course. Now you need to go. The Weasley twins are here."

Remus chuckled. "Good luck. You _will_ think about what I said, right?" Whatever response she made, it couldn't be heard. Fred heard the crack of his Apparation and hurriedly pulled the Ear away from the wall. He finished putting it away three seconds before Violet walked in. Her hair was pinned back in the same severe plait she wore the night before.

"Excellent!" she said brightly. "Come into my library, please." They followed her into a small room that was lined with shelves of books on all four walls. In the middle was a large desk, with a couch on one side and large chairs on the other three. She waved them over to the couch. As soon as they had sat, she plopped down between them and laid a large piece of parchment on the table. "Now," she said purposefully. "Tell me about your shop."

Fred blinked stupidly. "I—what?" George looked at the confused expression on his face and knew it matched his own exactly.

"Your shop," Violet said impatiently. "Have you decided on a location yet? Personally I would recommend Diagon Alley—you're unlikely to get a good location in Hogsmeade right now, and Zonko's is too well-liked among the students. Of course, eventually you might be able to open a franchise there, but I think Gambol and Japes presents more manageable competition for a new shop. However, since students aren't allowed in Diagon Alley during the year, you'll have to start up some sort of mail-order business, or else begin making products for a different demographic" She looked at the dumbstruck faces George was sure they both were wearing. "Oh, come now," she said sardonically. "Did you really think I was with your mother on this one? I'm a Potter. I was raised by the Marauders."

George was the first to recover his voice. "Fred, I think we've found ourselves a girlfriend. We'll have to share, of course, but I bet she could handle us both."

"I don't know, Fred. She's kind of small. That only leaves us each with two feet."

Violet chuckled dryly. "I don't think there's a witch out there that's woman enough for both of the Weasley twins. And I'm not _quite_ that short. Now, let's talk shop, because I actually will need your help later."

Casting their usual levity aside, Fred and George settled into business mode. "Well, we have an ad in the Daily Prophet right now. We've been advertising as a mail-order company—"

"Small orders only, as we don't exactly have the facilities for larger ones—"

"And available premises."

"Ah, yes." Violet pulled out the the_ Daily Prophet _and turned to the advertisements. "Weasley Wizards Wheezes—nice name, very catchy—Mail Order Joke Shop. Ton-Tongue Toffees, Canary Creams, Extendable Ears and Much, Much More. Still in search of the perfect premises…" she skimmed the rest of the advertisement before putting it down. "Very well, first things first. You'll need a financial backer."

The twins' faces both turned sheepish. "Ah—we have one," Fred admitted.

"Really?" Violet looked curious, but she thankfully didn't ask any questions about the identity of said backer. Then again, George mused, she seemed to have quite a few secrets of her own. "So where are you financially, then?"

"1400 Galleons, give or take. But our backer just made the one donation; the only money coming in is what we make."

She looked surprised. "Well, that's certainly enough for a start-up costs, a down payment, and a few months after, or if you'd rather rent, about seven months depending. If you choose to lease, you need to wait until the last minute before you open to save money because you have nothing coming in. Of course, you can't really get a good facility through an ad, so I'll put a call in and we'll go touring later this month. You need to decide exactly what you want, in terms of size, laboratory space, storage, a flat over, everything." The twins nodded and started animatedly discussing their vision.

"Definitely need a large laboratory, and hopefully rooftop access"—"A two bedroom flat, I've never had my own bedroom"—"Ha! You think you'll be bringing girls back to the flat ever? Not you, everyone knows you're the ugly twin. Ouch!"—"A shop on two levels, maybe?" "Or maybe a balcony, so we can have a high ceiling for the first." The meeting continued in that vein for some time. Fred and George discussed their needs, and Violet occasionally provided advice and suggestions. As they spoke, a quill sketched out their ideas and wrote down their suggestions if no accord was reached. At times, while the twins worked, Violet disappeared for a couple minutes at a time, after which she would sometimes scribble something down in a thick notebook. One time, when she came back, she was wearing a pair of glasses similar to Harry. She responded to George's "Hey, look, Fred, she's a speccy nerd like Harry" with a confused "Hmmm?" and a distracted "No, they're protective, not corrective." They had been working for close to two hours when she arrived back from another one of her little trips with a face filled with purpose.

"Alright, boys, now I'm sorry, but I actually do need your help this summer. Not all day, every day, and we will find plenty of time to work on your store, but I have a lot to do as well. However, this may beneficial to the two of you as well, especially if you have any explosive products to sell." She stepped behind the couch they were sitting at. They turned to watch as she pulled a huge, dark red tome down from the shelf. The book's weight was such that she released an audible grunt as it left the support of the shelf. Flipping through several thick pages, she murmured to herself. "Hmmm…not one, that's just introduction, two, definitely, not three, not four, I'll be setting those myself… five, yes, and six should do it. Alright, gentlemen, I need you to read chapters two, five and six of this book."

"You're giving us _homework_?" Fred asked incredulously, accepting the book from her.

"No," Violet said. "I want you to read it right now. I have errands to run, and you're going to need this information for what we're doing this afternoon. I'll be back in two hours."

George took the book out of Fred's hands and read the faded black words on the aged cover. "_A Rudimentary Introduction to Basic Wards, Foils, Lines of Protections, and Other Standard Methods of Aversion_ by Stalwert Gothel."

Fred snorted. "Rudimentary? Basic? The book is over three thousand pages long! Blimey, I guess we better get started."

End Chapter.


End file.
